


Somewhere Along the Winding Road

by alyse



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Community: legendland, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:24:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyse/pseuds/alyse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> The road back from the Pillars of Creation seems twice as long as the way there.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Along the Winding Road

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/lecri/profile)[**lecri**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/lecri/) for the [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/legendland/profile)[**legendland**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/legendland/) gift exchange.

**Title:** Somewhere Along the Winding Road  
 **Author:** alyse  
 **Fandom:** Legend of the Seeker  
 **Characters/Pairing:** Kahlan/Richard  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Word Count:** 1,000 exactly  
 **Disclaimer:** Legend of the Seeker (TV) belongs to ABC Studios/Disney. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.  


-o-

The road back from the Pillars of Creation seems twice as long as the way there, without Midsummer nipping at their heels and the Keeper's servants on the march.

There is no need to rush now. Midsummer is past and the Keeper has been defeated, even if the countryside they pass through is ravaged, dry as a bone thanks to the Keeper's rifts and the Keeper's banelings. Autumn is headed their way; there is no one to bring in the harvest, and half the crops are withered on the vine. It will be a long, hard winter for those left behind to mourn, but in spite of the hardship ahead the villages they pass through are celebrating. News travels on swift wings in the Midlands; it seems as though the entire world knows that the Keeper is defeated and the rifts have closed.

Each village catches at them, slowing their steps further, wanting to hear their story, wanting the reassurance of the Seeker's presence to confirm that it is truly over, that this is not just a temporary respite. And they have their own stories to tell. The banelings that have plagued the land - those poor, lost, desperate souls - have crumbled to dust where they stood and been blown away on the hot, high summer winds. Now those who die will find their way to the Creator's grace rather than being lost in the Keeper's clutches.

That alone is reason to celebrate, and the joy she sees all around her would lift Kahlan's heart, if her heart weren't already soaring. She sees the same happiness in the faces of her family: in Zedd's beaming smile; in Richard's gentle eyes, in Cara's... not as pronounced as usual scowl as village after village presses them to stay the night, to share in their feasts and share in their joy.

And in the morning, Cara rolls her eyes when yet another tearful villager with a tremulous smile presses more food on them than the village can afford. Kahlan thinks it's more the tears than the offering that have offended Cara, but who can tell with Cara, sister of her heart? Kahlan accepts what is offered with a smile. She's too pragmatic to have Richard's too soft-heart, worrying about whether taking anything is fair; Zedd's stomach rumbling has kept them awake more than once and Cara gets cranky on little sleep. Crankier.

Besides, Kahlan knows these people; they are her people in every way that counts, even if she held herself apart from them until Richard showed her she could do otherwise, that they would welcome her if she dared step outside of her Confessor's armour and meet them half-way. Kahlan knows that refusing what they offer would offend them; how can she refuse them anyway when there's joy in their faces and hope in their hearts?

She knows they see the joy in her eyes, too; perhaps they think hers is relief at the Keeper's defeat. Perhaps they see how she looks at Richard and wait until the Seeker and his Confessor are out of hearing before they nod sagely to each other and talk wisely of young love.

But Kahlan can't bring herself to wonder what they think, or to worry about it, not when her heart is singing. She can't bring herself to mind much when their path back to Aydindril takes the long and winding way. Cara's huffing impatience or Zedd's rambling monologues on one thing or another, which would normally make the hours and days drag, slip past her unnoticed or unremarked. Even though their steps have slowed, it feels as though the days still rush past too quickly, lost as she is in the feel of Richard's fingers entwined with hers.

There's no reason to rush, not now, and so she slows her steps further, drinking in each moment as though it was her last, savouring it simply because she can.

Richard, at least, seems to understand her dawdling. He slows his gait to match hers and, whenever she glances across at him, his fingers tighten around hers in a moment's perfect connection, his smiles secretive and all for her.

She smiles back, her heart in her eyes and her love for him shining on her face. She ignores Cara's snorts of disgust and Zedd's satisfied hums. She loves them both - dearly - but for the moment they exist outside this bubble around her and Richard. It will pass, she's sure, and she'll have time for them again - she will make the time for them, which is no less than they deserve. Cara will complain and Zedd will tell jokes and stories, and she will listen to both as though they are the most important things in her world. She will smile and nod and pay attention and if her fingers twitch towards Richard, they will understand and forgive her. Mock her a little, perhaps, but forgive her all the same.

She loves them; they know that, just as she knows they love her and each other. Even Cara, with her prickles and bristles, knows it now, feels it now. Zedd changed the world for her, twice; Kahlan and Richard would do no different. Even Cara must have figured that out by now.

When they finally reach Aydindril, she will pick up the mantle of the Mother Confessor as though she's never put it aside and wear it as well as she ever has, wear it as well as she has ever worn her duty. But that is the future, and the future has a way of happening no matter what they do. She's prepared to wait, to wallow a little in these long, perfect moments, each a little better than the last.

The road back from the Pillars of Creation seems twice as long as the way there, and she wouldn't care if it were twice as long again. The future can wait; for now, she smiles at Richard, slowing her steps to match his, and is content.


End file.
